


Vrijdag 18:26

by Anonymous



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: (not for long), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunions, Soft Sander, tw: assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 09:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21491746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Robbe is wrapping his arms around Sander before he consciously decides it. That night is something they need to heal over together, he realises, and he gives Sander the hug he needed so much from Milan. He tucks Sander into his neck, and feels the tension in his shoulders when Sander curls around him, biting back a sob.Or, 'Slutt å meld meg' in the WTFOCK universe
Relationships: Robbe Ijzermans/Sander Driesen
Comments: 10
Kudos: 457
Collections: Anonymous





	Vrijdag 18:26

**Author's Note:**

> People were really kind about my other fic, Woensdag 16:36, so here's another one. Hope you enjoy <3

‘Maybe there’s another universe where another Sander stayed with Britt.’

It sticks under Robbe’s skin. That nonchalant reminder that Sander could simply be with someone else. That casual reference to Sander having multiple genders to choose from, with equal ease. That painful moment where once again Robbe isn’t quite enough. 

And there’s the ugly implication that, ultimately, Robbe doesn’t know much about Sander’s life at all, or how he fits into it. Sander avoids talking about himself or about his home life. And he’s never invited Robbe over. Is there any universe where Sander tells Robbe what he’s really thinking?

‘I’m glad I live in this universe,’ Sander adds. Robbe breathes out slowly, eased somewhat by Sander’s contented smile. Then, thinking only of how much he wants it, Robbe angles down to kiss Sander’s pursed lips. He lets the sentence wash over him once again,  _ I’m glad I live in  _ ** _this _ ** _ one _ , and kisses him more firmly. 

This is his first love, and he’s known it since he ran out of that pool naked and more invigorated than he’s ever felt. And he doesn’t want to spend a single moment second-guessing that. So he eases down onto his back, Sander curling on top of him, hand gentle on his jaw.

This is their cocoon, their safe place, their sanctuary. Sander is his safe place, too. 

He’ll work on being Sander’s.

—

It’s a hideous feeling, the shame that follows utter helplessness. 

How was it they’d been happily drinking beer just fifteen minutes ago? 

Now Robbe spits out the glob of blood that had been weighing on his tongue — his lip was cut on his teeth when the tallest one punched him as hard as an anvil — and he watches it fall black onto the ground under the streetlamps.

The main thing Robbe had on his mind, even while the guys kicked at his ribs and spat slurs at him, was  _ please don’t hurt Sander, please leave him alone, someone help us.  _

And now he glances up and sees his first love huddled in the foetal position, quietly whimpering, like he doesn’t want Robbe to hear.

Robbe shakily gets onto his feet, stumbling over to Sander, and puts a hand on his arm as gently as he can. Sander still flinches. 

‘It’s ok, they’re gone. It’s just me,’ Robbe assures him.

Sander lets out a breath and opens his eyes. He doesn’t look at Robbe. He stares, unseeing, seemingly far away now.

‘We’re ok. But I think we need to go to the hospital—’

‘No,’ Sander says, ‘No, no, no. No hospital, Robbe.’

He tries to sit up but cries out at the pain. Robbe flinches just watching him, and extends his arms to help, but Sander waves him off.

‘I’m fine, it’s like after a football game, you know? A little bit of roughhousing. No big deal.’

Something in his voice is off, and Robbe feels a new wave of fear he can’t quite identify. Sander just got beaten up so badly that he can barely breathe, and he’s acting like it was a game? 

‘What are you  _ talking  _ about, Sander? We probably have internal bleeding—‘

‘No we don’t. They just had a go at us, and then they left. And if we go to the hospital they’ll ask what happened, there’ll be reports, and  _ you _ know we can’t tell them we’re fags. They’ll get the police involved, and it’ll just be more bullshit.’ 

Sander spits on the ground, and Robbe’s heart lurches when he sees the blood in it, too. And his words start to fade into white noise for Robbe, whose mind wanders and echoes _fags you know we can’t tell them we’re fags_ _we can’t tell them you know _

So much for being Sander’s safe place. 

He’s only confirmed all Sander’s worst fears. He was the one who shouted that awful word just a week ago, and it was for giving him the only kiss that ever mattered. Now they’ve had the same word branded on their bodies with devastating force, scraped into their skin, pummelled onto their chests. It might not spell those three letters but it’s written there all the same. And Robbe helped write it on Sander’s the moment he hurled that slur at him.

‘At least we have each other,’ Sander comforts him.

Robbe isn’t sure that’s comfort enough for the bruise swelling under Sander’s eye. Still, he takes it.

—

But.

Nothing prepares him for the anger that follows shame, the thick cloying bitter anger that is barely disguising pain, when he watches Sander kiss Britt in the club.

Merely hours after telling him he loved him. 

_ Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck everything. _

He decides this can’t be love. This can’t be anything but a horrendous joke from the universe. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The days that follow are agonising. All he wants is to hear the doorbell and Sander’s voice through the phone,

_ I made a huge mistake. I was scared and selfish and I fucked everything up. I blamed myself for the attack. I am so sorry. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you. We are the future. I love you.  _

But it never happens. All that happens is that Robbe can barely turn over in bed without crying from the pain in his ribs, his back, his head. 

It’s this, now. It’s just this. Aching, embarrassing reminders of how he trailed his fingers along Sander’s neck, how Sander lied, how Robbe was too in love to care what happened next. When he remembers how he clung to Sander in this very bed, he wants to set it on fire. Or maybe tear it apart with his bare hands. 

—

His bruises have turned an even more alarming purple before evening out to a dark blue-green-yellow splotch. He inspects them every morning, wondering how Sander’s must look, and then curses himself for having that thought.

—

Three days after the club night, Robbe gets a drawing in the post. It’s the one Sander showed him already, of Robbe and the ‘Chernobyl in his head.’

The drawing is just in a plain envelope. No note. Robbe wonders if it’s supposed to mean  _ I miss you  _ or,  _ it’s really over now, I don’t even want to remember.  _

And he doesn’t know which is better.

—

The second drawing comes a few days after that, again through the postbox, but no stamp.

It depicts a house. Well, half a house. Half seems to be missing, like it’s been cut through with a sharp knife. 

Inside the house is the undulating script of Bowie lyrics:  _ Prayers they hide the saddest view - believing the strangest things, loving the alien - And your prayers, they break the sky in two - believing the strangest things, loving the alien - _

Robbe sits with it for half an hour, and decides he’s not interested in contacting Sander about it. If it’s some kind of apology, it’s not going to work.

—

It’s really by accident that Robbe ends up on Sander’s campus. Zoë had asked if Robbe would collect a parcel for her from the depot while she sat her German exam. Seeing as she had gone above and beyond to take care of him recently, he knew it was the least he could do. What he didn’t anticipate was that the bus route took him right past the graphic arts school. 

He also didn’t plan to get off at that stop on the way back. But something drew him back to the exact place where they’d reconciled just a few weeks before. 

He feels the sensation of Sander’s lips on his all over again. He remembers how reluctant Sander had sounded when he said  _ I really have to go.  _ He clenches his jaw as he relives that kiss.

Robbe stands exactly where Sander had stood, trying to understand his perspective now: how  _ I love you _ had become unanswered messages, cryptic drawings, and a return to Britt. 

But Robbe can only see the bike stands, and beyond that, the sound of locks that took too long to open, the dull thud of punches, the screaming voices under indifferent stars. 

_ and the stars look very different today _

—

The third drawing comes in a text. 

It’s of Sander, wearing a mask, holding a camera, standing in the dark. And he’s looking at Robbe, holding a can of spray paint, a moon behind him, which both lights up the scene and surrounds his head like a halo.

There is a caption at the bottom:

_ Even when you’re not here, I see only you.  _

—

The following night, Zoë and Senne are out at the cinema. Milan is on a Grindr date. And Robbe is FaceTiming Jens. 

‘I don’t know what to do,’ he admits.

‘Give him an ultimatum. He needs to sort himself out, and that’s not on you. Tell him to back off, or come forward. It’s just intolerable with this weird non-thing he’s doing.’

Everything is definitely easier now that he’s out. And Jens gives good advice for a straight guy.

Robbe texts Sander:  _ Hey. Thanks for the drawings. I don’t know what you’re doing, but if you’re not interested can you please not reach out to me anymore.  _

He gets a reply instantly.

_ Where are you? Can we talk? _

Robbe shrugs to himself, wondering if any of this still matters. He sighs, and writes,  _ Chilling at home. _

And when Sander doesn’t reply, Robbe can’t say he’s surprised. 

He brushes his teeth, gets into his pyjamas, and turns off the lights. He’s had enough of this fucking day.

—

The door buzzer goes off about ten minutes later.

He huffs, and rolls his eyes. It’s probably just Milan, back from his date, too drunk to unlock the door himself. 

Reluctantly, Robbe gets out of bed, wincing at the deep bruise under his ribs that’s still there, and walks to the intercom phone. He picks it up and grumbles, ‘Milan?’

A long pause makes him wonder if it was a prank. Then he hears, ‘ _ Nee _ , it’s Sander. Can I come in?’

He stares at the keypad and the button that opens the front door. He stares and stares and wonders if he’s dreaming. 

‘Robbe?’ 

He pushes the button and puts the phone down. He walks to the kitchen and waits for Sander to knock. 

Quickly he runs through what he wants to say, what he wants to do. Though he misses Sander, so much it hurts like the fucking bruises dotted around his body, he’s finished with being kept in the dark about everything. He needs to know.

The last time Robbe saw him, Sander was entangled in Britt, and then plastered on her Instagram stories. 

But now, by the knock on the door, he’s apparently back.

Robbe doesn’t hesitate: he walks to the front door, and opens it in a swift pull. He gazes at Sander on the other side.

Sander, who is unmoving, the bruise on his cheek still shiny. Sander, who is looking at Robbe like a dog with a tail between its legs. Sander, whose eyes are dark and sunken, like he hasn’t eaten in a week. 

‘Fuck, it’s good to see you,’ Sander says, his voice breaking slighty.

‘You too,’ Robbe replies, letting the warmth in his chest seep into his voice.

They pause, just taking each other in. Robbe knows Sander’s waiting to be invited in, and he’s trying to get a sense of where Robbe is at. But Robbe barely knows that himself. He doesn’t know if he should pull Sander onto the couch and take his shirt off, or drag him to the kitchen and demand a full explanation.

The ‘shoulds’ disappear as he realises that Sander is  _ here _ . He’s choosing this. He’s choosing Robbe. Before Robbe can speak, though, Sander blurts out:

‘You have every reason to be furious with me. I know I’ve pulled you in and pushed you away. I know what it looks like, and I know- I kn-know that it hurts when people leave and you don’t know  _ why.. _ .’

Sander’s voice breaks again, and Robbe is close to tears when he notices it. He takes a step towards him but Sander’s eyes are fixed at his own feet as he barrels on: 

‘I know what it’s like when you can’t tell anyone what’s going on in your head, or why you have bruises, or why you’re destroying everything that helps you, and I… I’m so sorry I did that to you, Robbe, I knew it was cowardly but I told myself it was the safest thing.’

Sander takes a steadying breath and then looks Robbe in the eye.

‘Ever since -- ever since that night…’

Robbe is wrapping his arms around Sander before he consciously decides it. That night is something they need to heal over together, he realises, and he gives Sander the hug he needed so much from Milan. He tucks Sander into his neck, and feels the tension in his shoulders when Sander curls around him, biting back a sob.

‘I should have brought you to the hospital. I should have let them make a report. I should have told you why I didn’t want to go to the police. I should have--’

‘Shh.’

Robbe tangles his fingers in Sander’s hair, and tries to soothe him. That’s when he notices Sander hasn’t washed in a few days, maybe more. And alarm bells go off in his head. 

He glances down at Sander’s clothes, and sees they need washing, too. He adds this to the sight of Sander’s bruises, which should be nearly healed by now, and how wan and thin his face looks, and suddenly, in the pit of his stomach, Robbe knows.

‘You don’t live with your parents,’ Robbe whispers into Sander’s hair. 

Sander freezes, stock-still in Robbe’s arms.

‘And you haven’t eaten or washed in a few days at least.’ 

He says it flatly, no judgement or emotion in his voice. Robbe knows as well as anyone what it’s like to be homeless, powerless, and completely lost.

Sander tries to pull away, but Robbe holds him fast.

‘I’ve been there too. Ok? I’ve been there too.’

He knows he’s hit Sander’s breaking point, as he lets out a shocking wail into Robbe’s shoulder. Robbe tries to calm him, running a hand down his back, and gently guiding him into the apartment, but Sander is crying like he’s never let himself cry before. 

Once Robbe gets the door closed, they both descend to the floor, and Sander drops his head into Robbe’s lap, muffling his cries into Robbe’s thigh. A small part of Robbe feels intense relief, now Sander is here. He’s safe. But he needs Sander to know that.

Robbe leans over and leaves gentle kisses along Sander’s temple, hairline, cheek. He doesn’t say anything, except to quietly reassure Sander that they’re alone, and he just lets Sander get it all out.

The strands of light from the streetlamps outside tilt closer to them. It’s the only way he can distinguish how time is moving past.

Sander slowly calms, and wraps his hand around Robbe’s knee, running his thumb across it. It’s silent in the apartment, except for the sound of cars occasionally driving past, or someone walking up and down the stairwell. Robbe keeps running his fingers through Sander’s hair, and sometimes caressing down the lobe of his right ear. Anything to reassure him that he’s safe. 

‘You must be hungry,’ Robbe whispers. ‘I think Milan has some leftovers in the fridge we can have. And if you like, you can take a shower while I get it ready.’

‘You mean you wouldn’t jump me right here, right now?’ Sander responds, as self-deprecating as he is sarcastic.

Robbe smiles down at him, and gently lays a hand on his collarbone. ‘ _ Ik hou van jou.  _ That’s all that matters.’

Sander turns onto his back and looks up at Robbe, his face open and in awe. 

He gazes at him wordlessly, unblinking, until he quietly asks, ‘Still?’

‘Yes,’ Robbe says. He doesn’t need to think about it. It’s a fact, and it’s not going away.

Rolling on to his other side, Sander buries his face in Robbe’s stomach, and curls into him. 

‘Can I stay here tonight?’

‘Why are you asking?’ Robbe replies, caressing the hairline behind Sander’s ear. ‘You don’t have to ask to stay at home.’

—

Robbe gives Sander his only towel, and tells him to use whatever he wants in the bathroom. Once he gives him another hug, he closes the door and goes to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

He decides to give Sander the lion’s share of leftovers, and he quickly texts Zoë to ask if she’d mind him eating some of the  _ ontbijtkoek  _ she baked. She replies ‘yes’ with three gold hearts, so Robbe cuts Sander two thick slices and then smears a good layer of butter on top.

Sander comes out of the shower looking a little more relaxed. He eats everything Robbe offers him, and then haltingly asks if he can pay him in return, something to ‘restore the balance.’

‘Sander…’ Robbe says, softly, ‘You don’t have to-- I mean, you don’t owe me something now. I did this because I wanted to, and you deserve it. Ok?’

The lost look in Sander’s eyes stays with Robbe for the rest of the night. He asks if Sander wants to just lie on the couch and watch some TV with him, something to comfort them both.

Sander nods and says, ‘Can we watch something on your laptop? In … in your bed?’

With a hand on Sander’s neck, Robbe leans in and rubs the tips of their noses together.

‘Yeah. We can do that.’

—

They watch  _ The Man Who Fell to Earth _ and then Robbe offers to put on  _ Labyrinth  _ as well. Sander smiles, the first time he’s smiled all night, and asks, ‘Are you just humouring me now? Putting on a Bowie-film marathon?’

‘Would that be so bad?’ Robbe replies, sinking down into the bed next to him.

‘No,’ Sander replies, barely above a whisper.

Robbe smiles. He falls asleep not long after, lulled by the sound of Sander’s steady breaths next to him. He dreams of his hair, and his hands, and the comforting tenor of his voice.

Sander lies down next to Robbe, taking in the absolute calm on his face as he sleeps. He almost reaches out to cup his jaw, but decides against it. He doesn’t know if they’re back together now. He doesn’t know anything except this huge feeling in his chest, this anchor that holds him down and says,  _ Don’t leave me, don’t leave him, don’t leave me _ .

—

When Sander wakes up, Robbe is gone. 

He panics for a second, the dread of abandonment pulling his centre of gravity down to the ground -- but then he hears the clank of pans in the kitchen. 

He is making breakfast.

Sander takes a moment to close his eyes and take stock of where he is. He’s clean, warm, and comfortable, in a soft bed. He can smell Robbe on his pillow. He remembers touching their feet together in the night while they slept. When he moves his arm over to the empty side of the bed, he can still feel the warmth Robbe has left behind. And he can smell the happy scent of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen. But the joy that fills him is tinged with ever-present fear that he is about to lose it all.

Then he hears Robbe sing, off-key and off-beat.

_ Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes _

_ Turn and face the strange _

_ Ch-ch-changes _

_ Pretty soon now you're gonna get older _

_ Time may change me _

_ But I can't trace time _

Sander smiles. And he lets it fill him up. This boy, flung out of space, who somehow understands him, is making breakfast and singing David Bowie songs. He rolls over in bed and cuddles Robbe’s pillow, his body waking up to the reality with buttery, bright pleasure.

Once he brushes his teeth, he goes into the kitchen, where he finds a plate of blueberry pancakes on the table, and Robbe pouring two glasses of orange juice. 

‘Robbe…’ he says, in awe. 

Robbe glances up at him and grins. ‘Morning. I hope you’re hungry.’ 

He puts down the carton of juice and rounds the table to Sander. A brief anxiety passes through him as he wonders whether Robbe still  _ wants  _ him like he used to, until Robbe walks right into his personal space and looks at his lips. Sander’s heart thuds in his chest, sped up by Robbe’s soft gaze that gently asks for permission. With a tilt, Sander answers, and Robbe rises on to his tiptoes to kiss him.

This is it, Sander thinks. This is  _ it _ .

He clings to Robbe, holding both arms around his waist and kissing him like it’s the first and last time. He’s been craving this for what feels like  _ so _ long now. He just needs a little bit extra, he needs Robbe a little closer, a little more tongue. So he keeps pulling him in, nearer, longer.

Robbe winds his fingers into Sander’s hair and hums into his mouth. For a moment, Sander considers pulling him to the ground then and there, touching between his legs until he comes twice.

But Robbe leans back a little and smiles. ‘ _ Goedemorgen _ . Did you miss me?’

‘Yes,’ Sander replies, certain and breathless.

‘I missed you too,’ Robbe whispers, and leaves a quick kiss on Sander’s lips. ‘But it’s time to eat.’

Sander refrains from making the dirty joke his brain immediately fires up, and instead sits at the table, pouring Robbe some coffee. He keeps his feet between Robbe’s all through breakfast, and just about keeps his hands from his thighs. Robbe tells him about school, about Senne checking in on him, about Zoë’s offer to bring him to counselling, about coming out to the boys -- and Sander takes it all in with awe.

‘You have taken on so much change, so quickly,’ he says, holding a hand to Robbe’s face, ‘And you’ve done it so well, Robbe. I hope you’re really proud of yourself.’

Robbe blushes and shrugs, and Sander can’t stop the impulse to lean in and kiss him. Robbe’s mouth on his is still a novelty.

Still, a voice in his head pipes up, and he lets it speak. ‘We should talk,’ Sander admits aloud, wearily. 

‘Can we talk later?’ Robbe asks, his face just millimeters from Sander’s. ‘I only want this right now.’

Sander kisses Robbe as a resounding  _ yes _ . It’s sweet and giving, and Sander tries to keep it that way. But the spark under his skin seems to ignite with a similar heat from Robbe, who’s suddenly grasping on to Sander and letting his breath come hard and fast as he kisses, and kisses, and kisses him.

It’s like they flicked a switch. In seconds, Sander can sense how intense Robbe feels, and it matches, then inflames, his own desire. He can’t keep his hands steady. 

Robbe pulls back. 

‘Sander… please, I want you,  _ please _ .’ 

He pulls at Sander’s collar and stares at his mouth. 

Running the pad of his thumb over Robbe’s lips, Sander nods, trying to stop his hands from shaking. Robbe pulls him to his feet and walks him into his bedroom, locking the door behind them.

—

Seeing the bruises in the light of day is a shock Robbe had not anticipated.

Either Sander got the brunt of the attack, or hasn’t had enough rest or nutrition for his body to heal at a normal rate. Judging by the size and tenderness of the bruising, Robbe suspects it might be both.

Sander sees him stare and shields his body with his arms. ‘It looks worse than it is,’ he mumbles. Noticing his discomfort, Robbe glances up to meet his eyes. Then he takes off his own shirt with one hand.

‘Well, mine look just as bad,’ Robbe says. He hopes it’s enough to divert Sander’s self-consciousness.

But Sander’s heart aches as he takes in the cuts and bruises around Robbe’s stomach and hips. He remembers the sound of the kicks and the slurs, the feeling of being winded and heaving for breath, the taste of blood in his mouth. It takes him another second to realise that just seeing the evidence on Robbe has made him relive the whole experience.

‘You still look good to me,’ Sander says, reaching forward to gently place his hands on Robbe’s waist. He ducks his head to kiss Robbe’s neck, and along his collarbone. 

Robbe kisses Sander’s temple, winding his arms around Sander’s head and shoulders. ‘ _ Ik hou van jou _ ,’ he whispers, and Sander whispers it back. 

He doesn’t miss how Robbe’s breath comes out in a broken sigh.

‘I’m going to make it better, baby,’ Sander promises him, as Robbe guides Sander’s hands to his back, and beneath his waistband, ‘I’m gonna make the pain go away.’

Robbe smiles and kisses Sander again, mumbling, ‘You already did.’

They undress slowly, and Sander is nearly vibrating out of his skin with how turned on he is. He’s never been so intimate or so vulnerable in his life, and the feeling is terrifying. But Robbe keeps holding him close and kissing him, and Sander lets the comfort overtake his anxiety. He just wants to kiss every shade of proof on Robbe’s skin that he’s ever been hurt, so he guides Robbe onto his back on the bed, and touches him until he relaxes into the mattress, uninhibited and soft.

Sander draws his gaze all over Robbe’s body, and presses his lips against the bruises first, making sure he’s as gentle as possible. He washes Robbe in tenderness and care, letting his fingers trace the skin he’s about to comfort. It doesn’t matter if they have sex tonight or not, he just wants to look after his black star. So he does, he peppers kisses all over Robbe’s body, mapping out the places that make him gasp, and the places that make him giggle. He goes back to those bruises again and again, trying to ease them away with just his gentlest touches. And he kisses Robbe’s hurt until he feels his own start to heal. 

He’s noticed Robbe get hard through all of this, but decided not to react unless Robbe specifically asks him to. This union is about reconciling and healing, and Sander wants to honour every minute of it, even if he’s  _ aching  _ to get his mouth on Robbe’s most intimate places.

There’s a gentle hum from the rickety old electric heater in the corner of Robbe’s room. The only other thing Sander can hear is Robbe’s heavy measured breathing. So Sander closes his eyes, then licks along Robbe’s inner thigh until he makes a high-pitched sound. Then he does it again.

Without a word, Robbe takes Sander’s hand, curved around his knee, and moves it up, up, up, over Robbe’s own thigh, his hip, his abdomen, and then places it on his hard dick. Sander looks up at him, struck with a slight fear now that they’re crossing a distinct line, but Robbe gazes softly back and nods his head.

Sander takes it in hand, amazed at how hot and smooth it feels in his palm, and at how Robbe lets out a quiet hiss, it’s so sensitive. He spits on it a little, and hoping Robbe likes that - he does - and then he begins a slow rhythm of movement, letting both of them get accustomed to the feeling. He likes watching how Robbe reacts, how his legs twitch. And Robbe likes it when he plays with his frenulum, flicking it back and forth before rubbing it gently. 

‘We don’t have to do anything tonight,’ Robbe says, between short breaths, ‘but if we did… I can… I have stuff.’

Sander’s whole body locks down on this moment and his eyes meet Robbe’s, frozen in a totalising feeling of  _ yes  _ and  _ oh  _ and  _ fuck _ .

‘You do?’ Sander says, his hand speeding up a little.

Robbe nods and whines when Sander twists at the tip.

‘Have you ever--?’ Sander asks.

‘No, have you ever--?’

‘Not with a guy.’

‘First time for everything.’

Robbe punctuates his assertion by twisting his torso to reach for the bedside cabinet, from which he retrieves a small box of 6 condoms and a half-empty bottle of lube.

‘You’re still hurt…’ 

‘So are you, Sander. Besides, didn’t you say you’d make it better?,’ Robbe adds, with a sly smirk.

Without another thought, Sander snakes both hands under Robbe’s ass and slides him down the bed. 

‘You cheeky little fuck,’ Sander mutters, grinning back at him and landing a wet kiss on his mouth.

‘Cheeky?’ Robbe echoes, turning his hips to the side to expose his butt, and Sander’s jaw drops, incredulous at this new display of flirty bravado. 

‘Who even are you?’ Sander asks, thrilled and giddy as he pins Robbe to the mattress.

Robbe grins up at him and kisses him quickly on the lips. Then he utters two words that spin Sander out of orbit. 

‘I’m yours.’

The warmth from this morning rises up in Sander and washes over him again. He bites his lip and gazes down at Robbe, his mind blank of fear, glittering with joy. 

‘And I’m yours,’ he whispers back.

  
  


—

  
  


‘I swear, Robbe, you’ll love it--’

‘No way! I don’t care!’

‘It’s so good, baby, trust me--’

‘I am not letting you  _ lick  _ my  _ asshole _ , Sander, that’s so gross.’

‘It’s not just licking. It’s also kissing and sucking and sometimes putting my tongue  _ inside _ \--’

‘Absolutely stop talking.’

‘Would you prefer it if we used a dental dam?’

‘It’s still my ass whether or not you put a bit of latex on it!’

‘Alright, baby. We don’t have to do anything you aren’t into. C’mere.’

‘I’m just saying it’s … it’s something we build up to. You don’t pull that trick out of your sleeve on the first go, it’s-- it’s a little...’

‘That’s fair enough.’

‘I-I’m not saying  _ never _ , you know, just… oh… o-oh… oh god-’

‘What about this trick?’

‘Oh… o-oh… Sander, how are you doing that with...’

‘You like that?’

‘... Oh god … fuck … I-’

‘A little more?’

‘ _ Yes _ …’

‘There?’

‘ _ Ah _ , yes, fuck … yes, I- god,  _ yyyyes _ …’

‘I knew you’d be good for me.’

‘ _ Fuck _ baby, I… I’m so… I need it--’

‘You like me touching you there, don’t you?’

‘!!’

‘That’s it, let it feel nice.’

‘God,  _ Sander _ , you feel  _ so _ g-good down there--’

‘Yeah?’

‘Fucking hell,  _ don’t stop _ …’

‘I won’t.’

—

Robbe can’t avoid coming when Sander eases his fingers inside him. He’d played with Robbe’s happy trail and his taint until he was squirming on the bed, and when Sander finally fingered him, it was barely a minute before Robbe’s climax overwhelmed him.

Out of breath and slightly embarrassed, Robbe throws an arm over his eyes and giggles. Sander noses under his arm and kisses his lips, whispering, ‘You look so lovely like this.’

Robbe rolls him over on the bed and straddles him, leaning down to cup his face and kiss him as deeply as he can.

‘I know I lasted literally ten seconds but I want you inside me again,’ Robbe rushes out between kisses.

‘Hey-’ Sander starts but Robbe slips his tongue between his teeth.

They get distracted by kissing for a little while, and Sander feels dizzy just holding Robbe and hearing him moan like this.

‘Hey listen-’ he tries again, and Robbe sighs and sits back up.

‘Yes?’

‘You seem a little rushed,’ Sander says. ‘And I don’t wanna rush this.’

‘I’m not rushed, I’m horny.’

‘You  _ just  _ came, Robbe-’

‘So?’

Sander pauses. ‘Yeah, ok, fair point.’

Looking down at him, Robbe grins and slides his hands down Sander’s chest. He caresses the bruise on Sander’s cheek, and then kisses the one blooming on Sander’s stomach.

‘We don’t have to if--’

‘I fully want to,’ Sander interrupts, and then kisses him, makes it heavy and wet. He wants Robbe to feel how desired he is, and how safe.

Robbe smiles into it, and then pushes the box of condoms into Sander’s hand without a word. 

—

They argue about positions. Robbe suggests doggy style ‘for ease of access’ and Sander holds a straight face for two seconds before bursting out laughing. When Robbe defensively folds his arms and sulks, Sander kisses him sweetly and asks him to open up. Instinctively, Robbe spreads his legs, and Sander glances down, gleeful as he explains, ‘I meant your mouth but - that’ll do.’

He settles in between Robbe’s legs but is careful not to put his weight on tender bruises. He kisses him until he can sense Robbe relax into the mattress again, and then he quickly puts on a condom and tries to steady his breathing. 

Robbe, though, looks up at him in utter bliss, and smiles. ‘You’re here. In my bed. About to top me.’

‘Is this news or…?’ Sander replies, frowning and laughing while he does so.

‘I’m just affirming it to myself,’ Robbe admits, with a little shrug. ‘Whenever I felt lost before, I’d say aloud what was happening so I could process it. Sometimes it was bad stuff, but sometimes - like now - it’s because I don’t want to be anywhere else. I … I’m just so happy.’

Sander stares down at Robbe, his brain firing synapses everywhere and still lost for words. He realises there are tears at the corner of his eyes when Robbe’s expression shifts and his hands move to Sander’s face. 

‘I’m so happy too,’ Sander replies, kissing Robbe’s palm. 

Robbe moves his knees higher at Sander’s sides, silently asking for more. And Sander kisses him soft and slow while he moves closer.

The breach is always the most difficult part. And Robbe sometimes winces and curses, and he breaks a sweat halfway, but he still pleads for Sander to keep going.

It suddenly strikes Sander - he is inside Robbe. He is  _ inside  _ him. By the time he’s fully inside, he’s broken a sweat too, and he’s gasping for breath. His body takes over, and his mind swirls in a kaleidoscope of colour and feeling. Red arousal, pale blue freedom, green safety, navy sadness, yellow joy, pink joy, purple joy, white joy, black joy. 

As he thrusts, he thrives on the sound of skin slapping together, on the smell of sweat, and the taste of Robbe’s mouth. Each time he thrusts in, he feels a little closer to heaven. He can tell he’s pushing Robbe to the edge, too, as Robbe lets his jaw part and his throat make all the noise he wants.

He knows it won’t take much, and he has to practice restraint, so he tries to divert his own impeding climax by moving his hand down to where they’re connected. Robbe chokes back a groan at the feeling, and Sander curves his hand around the base of his dick, but then leaves it resting on Robbe’s taint.

‘I can feel your heartbeat on the back of my hand,’ he groans on the next thrust in, and Robbe sighs out a long, strangled whine of pleasure. 

‘Please-- Sander-- I can’t--’

‘Ok darling,’ Sander murmurs. He curls one hand around Robbe’s knee and hikes it higher on his hip, and the other around the base of Robbe’s skull, tucking him into his neck. The angle makes Robbe cry out a moan, and Sander can thrust even further now, pushing Robbe right to the edge of the bed and his climax.

He’s so loud, louder than Sander thought he might be, and so free with his body. It’s overwhelming to have this much trust and openness just offered to him. So he tries to make it good, he tries to be the best he can be for Robbe, and gives him everything he’s got.

Robbe’s orgasm hits him with force, as his eyes squeeze shut and his stomach suddenly has trails of cum dripping along it. Sander realises he’d been too mesmerised by Robbe’s voice to pay attention to anything else. He eases off the momentum, but Robbe slides his hands down to Sander’s ass and quietly says, ‘I want you to finish like this.’

And there’s little he can do to postpone it now. With Robbe’s lips at his ear and his fingers trailing along the hairline behind it, Sander thrusts in again and again and suddenly tips over the edge. He feels high, like white light emanates from his core outward, and then the deep release of tension spreads through him like heat. He moans brokenly and then drops his head next to Robbe’s, catching his breath.

As he softens, he slowly pulls out, careful not to go too fast. Robbe just sighs contentedly, and takes the used condom, throws it into the bin next to the bed, and misses. 

‘Ah well,’ he says, ‘better luck next time.’

Sander huffs a laugh and then manoeuvres Robbe into being his big spoon, prompting an amused giggle from Robbe, who kisses the nape of Sander’s neck and says, 

‘It’s literally ten a.m., we’re not going to sleep now.’

Sander hushes him and says, ‘We can do what we like. We’re in love.’

And Robbe holds him a little bit tighter.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
